


Four Little Words

by phandomsub



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Depression, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Wedding Planning, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phandomsub/pseuds/phandomsub
Summary: Proposing to Dan is the easiest thing Phil has ever done. But for Dan, saying yes is the hardest.





	Four Little Words

The air of their bedroom is quiet and still. Something is wrong, Phil can sense it.

‘Are you sure you like it?’ he asks, not for the first time, as he catches Dan staring at his left hand. Black diamonds glimmer in the low lamplight, embedded in an opulent band of white gold.

‘Hm?’ Dan hums, soft and withdrawn. His vacant brown eyes refocus on Phil’s concerned face. ‘Sorry?’

‘The ring. I can return it if you don’t like it.’

‘No,’ Dan says, closing his hand in a tight fist, burying the vulnerability of his open fingers into his palm. ‘I love it. It’s perfect.’

There’s no dishonesty in his voice. It makes the silent unease all the more unsettling.

*****

Proposing to Dan was the easiest thing Phil has ever done. He expected it to be the most nerve-wracking moment of his life, but, when it came down to it, it was as simple as asking  _what do you want for dinner?_

It happened in their lounge room one Sunday night, between episodes of a Netflix original and sips of red wine. There were no full names or long-winded speeches, because neither of them had ever dreamt of those cheesy clichés. He had gotten down on one knee, though – if only just to see the way Dan’s jaw dropped in surprise. Stunned fingertips brushed pink lips as Phil opened the red satin box, and he’d spoken those four little words with so much ease.

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ Dan said, eyes welling as they moved between Phil’s smiling face and the engagement ring. Phil laughed, because it wouldn’t be the man he loved if his reaction had been any more eloquent than that.

‘Is that a yes?’

‘Yes,’ Dan nodded, wiping away the stray tears before cupping Phil’s face and kissing him once, hard and passionate. ‘Of course I’ll marry you, you sneaky asshole. When did you even – fuck it, I don’t care. Yes.  _Yes_.’

Neither of them wanted some extravagant, Hallmark proposal, but they had wanted romantic – and Phil couldn’t think of anywhere more so than on their well-loved couch in the home they’d built together.

*****

‘That is the most  _boring_  proposal I’ve ever heard in my life!’

Louise’s words are teasing and tinged with laughter, her pale-pink nails catching on the opening of Phil’s shirt as she playfully smacks his chest. He giggles along, trying not to become hypnotised by her big, silver earrings as they continually catch the fading London light.

‘Did you really expect more from us?’ he asks.

‘Good point,’ she says, blonde curls bouncing as she nods. ‘Honestly, I had bets on Dan doing it by hiding a ring at the bottom of his cereal for you to find.’

‘I probably would have accidentally eaten it,’ Phil says. ‘Or died waiting. Can you imagine? He’s so indecisive, he would have spent five years just choosing the ring. Wedding planning is going to be a nightmare.’

‘Speaking of, where is the groom-to-be?’ Louise asks, looking around the otherwise empty kitchen.

‘He shouldn’t be long,’ Phil says, finishing the last of his cider and setting the bottle down on the bench. ‘He’s just shaving.’

‘What, his balls?’ Louise cackles. ‘Surely that baby face doesn’t need it.’

‘Are you two bullying me again?’ a voice complains from the next room, moments before shined shoes carry in a clean-shaven Dan.

‘Daniel!’ Louise cries, opening her arms wide with a grin.

‘Hey, Louise,’ he greets warmly, walking into her hug. Phil swears he hears Dan’s back pop with how tightly she squeezes.

‘Oh, I’ve missed you,’ she says, balancing on tip-toe to rest her chin on his shoulder. Then, in a split-second switch, she jumps away. ‘Let me see it!’

Phil watches on with adoration as Louise takes Dan’s large hand between her painted claws, tilting it from side to side to inspect its new addition.

‘My God,’ she splutters, rubbing the pad of her thumb over the line of symmetrical diamonds. ‘This thing must have cost more than my car. Are you sure you’re going to be able to afford a wedding?’

‘I think we’ll manage,’ Phil laughs, fond gaze lingering on his fiancé.

Dan looks gorgeous tonight, curly hair tamed with product and shirt collar fitted with a simple black tie. Fleetingly, Phil wonders if this is how he’ll look at the altar.

‘Oh, my boys,’ Louise squeals, petting Dan’s face hard enough for it to scrunch up in irritation. Phil doesn’t have the heart to step aside when she rounds on him next, and his cheek meets the same fate. ‘My lovely, rich boys, getting married! Have you told your parents yet?’

‘Not yet,’ Dan says, tilting his head to poke at his hair in a way that’s far too delicate to actually change anything. In the back of his mind, Phil files that little quirk away under a folder titled  _vows_.

‘We’re going up to Manchester in a couple of days,’ Phil explains. ‘And we figured since we’re telling my family in person, we’ll just hold off for a few weeks to tell Dan’s at Christmas.’

‘That’s so exciting,’ Louise squeals, bouncing in her ballet flats. ‘You must be bursting to tell them.’

The nervous flick of Dan’s tongue is so faint that Phil doubts Louise even notices it; his bustling hands are far more distracting, catching her glittery eyes as they pat against each pocket of his outfit.

‘Uh, yep,’ he says. ‘Hey, I left my wallet upstairs. I’ll just grab it and then we should probably go, yeah? Reservation is for six.’

Louise cracks another joke that Phil doesn’t quite hear over the sound of scurried footsteps. Something catches in his chest as Dan disappears, and he’s left to breathe in the lingering dregs of his cologne.

*****

‘Phil?’

Opening his eyes, Phil is met only with more darkness. As a child, this was the thing that had scared him most – the vast, blinding depth, that could be filled with nothing, or absolutely everything. Back then, his mind would run wild with possibilities until he felt like he was suffocating under it. Now, it feels more like a comforting blanket. He doesn’t need sight to know what’s there anymore, not with the solid presence ever beside him.

‘Yeah?’ he whispers.

Dan shuffles a little closer, warm chest pressing flush to Phil’s side and the smooth curve of his cheekbone slotting perfectly into the dip of Phil’s clavicle. Somehow, the arrangement of their naked bodies digs up an image from Phil’s mental archive of ancient Egypt; one of millions of carved stones, pressing together impossibly close to form the point of the pyramids, sat perfectly aligned beneath the stars.

‘You awake?’

‘Obviously,’ Phil snorts, and Dan gives a soft giggle.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he says.

Phil’s fingers dance through soft locks in the dark, seeking out the single delicate ringlet that’s always there, hidden amongst gentle curls. He finds it at the crown of Dan’s head and wraps it around his finger, staying quiet as the words of Dan’s therapist ring in his ears.  _Don’t force him to talk. It’ll only push him further away. He’ll come to you when he’s ready, all you need to do is be there for him._

‘Remember when we had no money, and we used to talk about travelling through Japan?’

The rhythmic twirling of Dan’s hair pauses, then starts again.

‘Yeah?’ Phil says. He hadn’t been expecting that, but then again, it’s best not to expect anything when it comes to the workings of Dan’s brain.

‘Well, we have money now, and we still haven’t done it.’

‘No,’ Phil says, staring towards the ceiling. ‘We haven’t.’

‘So, I was wondering,’ Dan says, shifting to face Phil, even though he can’t see him. ‘Maybe we could do that for our honeymoon. I mean, I don’t want an expensive wedding, and I know you’re not into big parties, so maybe we could just do something small and spend the rest on travelling. Do the whole country, like we always said we would.’

The tingling warmth that spreads through Phil’s body escapes in the form of a grin, and it takes with it the doubts that he’s harboured inside his head. Wrapping both arms around him tightly, Phil presses a kiss to Dan’s forehead.

‘Let’s do it,’ he says.

‘Really? Can we go to the travel agent tomorrow? I was hoping to catch cherry blossom season and I’ve got a list on my phone of the places I want to go–’

‘Sure,’ Phil laughs lightly, rubbing his smooth back. ‘Anything you want.’

*****

By far, one of the best things about visiting home for Phil is his mothers’ lasagne. He would eat it every day for the rest of his life if he could – it’s so good that he doesn’t even mind the thin layer of cheese on top, even though his stomach might later. Or perhaps not, since he hasn’t had the chance to take a bite of the steaming slice between his mum’s rapid-fire questions.

‘I’m just so happy,’ she gushes, cheeks glowing a rosy red. Identical blue eyes idle on the black and white band wrapped around Dan’s finger; Phil’s lips twitch as he notices it’s slowly edged closer to his fork. ‘Did you want a drink to celebrate? Martyn, run to the bar and fetch the good wine.’

‘No mum, really, it’s fine,’ Phil says. ‘We plan on actually using our hotel room this time. We don’t both fit in my old bed like we used to.’

‘Did we ever really fit?’ Dan adds. ‘I distinctly remember fearing for my life every time I rolled over.’

‘At least we could get both our legs in at once.’

‘No getting us drunk and convincing us to stay this time, mum,’ Dan teases, eyes crinkling as he beams at his future mother-in-law. Phil’s heart skips a beat – in all his time of knowing Dan, he’s never once seen him look at his own mother like that.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Kath says, waving her hand dismissively. ‘Just one drink for a toast. Red or white? Oh, what am I saying? Get the red, love, the one with the black label.’

‘I’d prefer not to have a repeat of last time, too, thanks,’ Martyn snickers, flashing Phil a knowing smirk. ‘The walls are no thicker than they used to be, either.’

‘Shut up,’ Phil whines, ears reddening with a rush of embarrassment. He doesn’t recall much from the tail-end of their last family gathering, past the distinct smell of his old sheets and the taste of Dan on his tongue.

‘At least Philip has had the decency to tie his bird down,’ their dad pipes up, mouth full and manners thrown to the wind. ‘Well, not  _bird_  – sorry Daniel. He’s put a ring on his one, though, what about you? Cornelia is a pretty girl, better trap her while you can.’

‘And that’s my cue,’ Martyn says, the legs of his chair scraping against oak floorboards as he stands. ‘How many bottles? Two? Three? I’ll take any amount of questionable noises over this – it’s not like it isn’t anything I haven’t heard before.’

‘Oh my  _God_ ,’ Phil groans, covering his burning face with his hands. Peeking through spindly fingers, he turns to Dan for moral support, but fails to catch his eye.

‘Just get the one, dear,’ Kath says, neglecting the rest of the conversation. For once, Phil is thankful for his mothers’ ability to blatantly ignore anything she dislikes.

As Martyn leaves the room, Phil takes the rare beat of silence to reach for his cutlery; he almost has the knife to his plate when his mum speaks again.

‘So, tell me boys, when are you thinking for the wedding? Have you discussed a season yet?’

Again, Phil looks expectantly at Dan, tripping on a double-take when he finds his blank stare still locked on the dormant salt and pepper shakers. Setting back down his fork, Phil slips his hand under the white tablecloth to rest a warm palm on his thigh. It calls Dan’s eyes to him, but the contact is fleeting.

‘Actually,’ Phil says, clearing his throat as he gives a soft squeeze, ‘we’ve decided on April.’

‘Oh, spring, that’s fantastic! So pretty, and not too warm – you could even have it outside somewhere. My friend, Pam, her daughter had her wedding in Kew gardens last spring. The photos looked  _wonderful_. Hard to get a booking, I’ve heard, but it’s still well over a year away and I’m sure you two could pull some strings–’

‘No, mum,’ Phil interrupts. ‘This  _coming_  April.’

‘This…Philip!’ she exclaims, affronted. ‘That’s less than five months away. That’s not enough time to plan a wedding.’

‘Good luck telling these two about time restraints,’ Martyn says, returning with a large bottle of wine in hand. ‘Especially Mister “I screwed up the merch order and we need an extra two-hundred units before we leave for tour in three days”.’

‘Hey! That form was confusing! Besides, you can’t pick on me, I’m your boss.’

‘Course I can. Boss or not, I’m still your big brother,’ Martyn says, grinning. ‘And what about you, Dan?’

‘…What?’ Dan mumbles, sounding unduly lost.

‘Are you going to take Phil’s name and officially become a Lester, so I can pick on you, too?’

Dan looks between them, dark doe-eyes blinking hollowly. Phil waits, smiling with anticipation because he’s certain that Dan’s about to crack a woundingly savage joke right back.

‘I’m…’ Dan says. He trails off, licking his lips before suddenly standing – the silverware rattles as clumsy knees bump the table in his haste. ‘I’ll go and get the glasses.’

Silence falls, and the smile fades from Phil’s face as he watches him go.

*****

‘We’re heading off.’

Phil leans against the doorway of his brothers’ old bedroom. Martyn looks up from his spot perched on the neatly-made bed, phone clutched in both hands; he smiles, semi-permanent laugh lines stretching across familial features, and locks the bright screen.

‘Had enough of mum’s interrogation for one night?’ he asks, setting his mobile aside. It buzzes once. Phil knows it must be Cornelia – in the same way everyone else knows his text alerts are always Dan.

‘She’s relentless. I’ll be expecting five calls a day for the next two weeks.’

‘More like the next month,’ Martyn says, standing. His voice climbs three octaves as he imitates their mother. ‘ _Have you thought about napkins, darling?_ ’

‘Oh God, napkins!’ Phil says, smacking his forehead theatrically. ‘That’s what I forgot. No way we’ll get that done in time, guess the wedding’s off.’

Stood in a time-capsule of their distant past, they both sniffle their laughter and, for a moment, it’s as if they’re kids again. Martyn fondly punches Phil’s shoulder. Phil pretends it doesn’t hurt.

‘For real, though, she’s proud of you. And so am I,’ he says. ‘Dan’s a great guy. A little crazy with the mood swings, but great.’

‘I think he’s just a bit scared, you know?’ Phil says, voice dropping lower. ‘It’s a big step forward. He’s actually handling it pretty well, considering – remember how dramatic he used to be? Even a year ago he would have gone and booked some cabin in the mountains to “find himself” in, and then I’d be stuck chasing the deposit after he decided not to go.’

‘He sure is one of a kind,’ Martyn chuckles. ‘But so are you. And I’m glad you found each other, because God knows who else would put up with your shit.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ Phil says, dryly. He glances at his hands, shuffling a little on the faded carpet. ‘But, uh, speaking of the wedding, there’s something I wanted to ask you.’

‘Oh yeah?’

Phil nods, looking up at his older brother – at the boy who, up until he met Dan, was his best friend in the whole world.

‘Will you be my best man?’

The air expels from Phil’s lungs with a strained  _oof_  as he’s dragged into a bone-crushing hug.

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ Martyn says, squeezing tighter. ‘Of course I will.’

*****

‘I always forget how pretty Manchester is.’

The corners of Dan’s full lips pull with a subconscious smile, stretching up towards the ink-black sky as he admires the maze of heritage buildings surrounding them. Exchange Street glows in the night with an opiate-orange haze, its paved path illuminated by street-lamps and fairy-lights that wind around lines of leafless trees. Crowds of people swarm by, and yet there’s still no rush.

Cold knuckles brush against Phil’s own as they pass what was once their local fish and chip shop; its tables and chairs have been packed away with the passing of time, just like their memories of it, but its neon sign still buzzes in the dark as a prevailing reminder.

‘London’s nice,’ Dan continues. ‘But I miss it here, sometimes.’

‘Do you ever miss the flat?’ Phil asks, voice soft as they stroll aimlessly along.

‘Yeah,’ Dan says. ‘I mean, not the flat itself, it was a fucking disaster. Nothing bloody worked. But the time there…’

‘You’re happier now, though,’ Phil says, glancing sideways. ‘Right?’

‘Oh, undoubtedly. I was more of a mess than that damn apartment was. But the times when it was quiet in my head, it was…nice. Peaceful, I guess.’

‘We could always come back here, you know. When it’s all said and done.’

‘Yeah,’ Dan says. ‘I think I’d like that.’

Phil watches as their feet step in unison, before coming to a simultaneous stop as the block suddenly ends. Water rushes from a fountain in the distance. A car nearby honks its horn. Pop music plays from the speakers of an ice-cream stall across the street. Breathing in the cool winter air, Phil looks up and takes it all in.

‘We could spend the rest of our lives here,’ he says, exhaling their future in a puff of white fog.

There’s a moment of hush between them where Dan stands perfectly still, eyes cast to their shoes; blue Van’s perfectly aligned with black Nike’s.

‘Phil.’ He breaks the silence with a hoarse whisper. ‘I need to tell you something.’

‘Hey, look!’

The words rush from his mouth without conscious decision, the bright lights twinkling on the horizon short-circuiting his thought filter.

‘It’s back!’ he says, pointing down the street that’s cut through their path. ‘The Eye! It’s back, Dan!’

Dan whips around to mimic Phil’s view, black scarf billowing behind him in the breeze.

‘Oh, wow,’ he gushes. ‘They’ve put it back up. But – why? I thought they said–’

‘Who cares?’ Phil laughs, excitement bubbling within his ribcage. He grabs at Dan’s limp hand, lacing their fingers loosely and dragging him in the direction of the giant Ferris wheel. ‘Let’s go!’

Unsurprisingly, Dan doesn’t resist; his footsteps fall back in time with Phil’s, faster and with more purpose than before. They don’t hold hands the entire way, but the sleeves of their heavy jackets don’t separate either as the wheel transforms from a circle of lights to a towering framework of metal. Gondolas glide lazily through the air above Piccadilly park, and Phil has to stop and take a moment to behold the sight he thought he’d said goodbye to for good.

‘I wonder why they’ve brought it back,’ Dan says, slipping his freezing hands into the warmth of his pockets. ‘I swear we were the only people who still used it.’

‘Maybe they finally read the letter I sent back in 2012.’

‘That must be it. I bet it was that one part about it being the only place we could make out in public that did it. “Fuck the deficit, these closeted gays need their wheel.”’

Phil smirks at him. Dan raises his eyebrows.

‘What?’

‘Let’s not disappoint them, then,’ he says, bumping their shoulders together before taking off towards the ticket booth. ‘Come on.’

Admittedly, there are quite a lot of people in line compared to the dwindling days before its initial closure. Even so, the wait isn’t very long.

‘I wonder how much money we’ve wasted on this thing,’ Dan says, handing over two paper tickets as their gondola pulls up.

‘Probably enough to buy you some earrings to go with that ring.’

‘Don’t think you won’t still be getting me some,’ Dan says, clambering through the capsule door and taking a seat. Phil follows close behind; inside, it’s just as he remembers, albeit a little cleaner. ‘I’ve been stressing about what pair I’m going to wear.’

‘We haven’t even picked our suits yet.’

‘I know, I’ve been stressing about that, too.’

As Manchester begins to shrink beneath them, Dan’s fingers find their way back to Phil’s. Thousands of lights shine in the sea of the city below, and it’s nothing like the millions of London, but to them, it’s better that way. Smaller, calmer. Dan rests his head on Phil’s shoulder as the gondola continues to climb; it’s been years since they’ve done this, but that old feeling of all their troubles being left behind on the ground returns as if they’d never stopped.

‘Wow,’ Phil mumbles. ‘It’s still so beautiful.’

‘Mm,’ Dan hums. ‘But not as beautiful as me, right?’

‘Don’t be cheeky.’

‘Your fault for being lame.’

‘That was nine years ago.’

‘And I told you that I’d never let you live it down.’

Phil smiles, squeezing Dan’s hand lightly as they come to a halt, close to the top.

‘Hey,’ he says suddenly, ‘what were you going to tell me?’

‘What?’ Dan says, sitting up straight to look at him. Phil would never say it out loud – not again, at least – but he really is just as breathtaking as the gleaming city.

‘Before, you said you wanted to tell me something. What was it?’

‘Oh,’ Dan says. The curve of his mouth dips, then presses together. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘You sure?’ Phil presses. ‘You seemed a little down at dinner. Everything okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Dan says, quick and with no conviction. Phil’s brow creases and Dan sighs. ‘Can we just – not now. Not here.’

‘Alright, but you can’t start bottling things up again, okay? You tell me as soon as you’re ready.’

Dan’s smile is so sad, and Phil hates that he doesn’t know what it means. The soft lips that find his own linger, pressing kiss after kiss until Phil can’t imagine using them for anything else.

‘I love you,’ Dan whispers. ‘Forever.’

*****

‘ _Hey, Phil_.’

Phil nods along dumbly to what the woman beside him is explaining, wide eyes following short, emerald fingernails as they tap enthusiastically against glass casing. Her words are difficult to follow, rapid-paced and dripping with a thick Scottish accent. Phil convinces himself he knows what she’s saying by repeating snippets back at her, phrases like  _choc-hazelnut_  and  _three-tier_  and  _buttercream_. It’s an arduous struggle to keep up, and the persistent whispering from behind him isn’t helping.

‘ _Phil_.’

‘I can give you some free samples to take, if you like,’ she offers. This, Phil has no trouble understanding.

‘That would be fantastic,’ he says, smiling as she nods, before disappearing behind the counter in a flurry of ginger hair and Egyptian cotton.

‘ _Phiiii-_ ’

‘ _What_ , Dan?’ Phil groans, shoulders slumping and head tipping back. ‘You’re supposed to be helping. I thought you’d have a bit more interest, considering it’s food.’

‘But you have to see this!’

As Phil turns around in the compact, upscale bakery, he has full intentions of holding onto his irritation; then he sees the ecstatic, almost childlike excitement on his fiancés’ pretty face, and it melts away like warm icing.

‘It’s you!’ Dan says, holding up one half of a cake-topper. ‘It’s literally you!’

The porcelain groom stands about as tall as Phil’s middle finger, dressed in a classic tuxedo with pale white skin and jet-black hair. Bright blue irises stare back at him as Phil hiccups a laugh of disbelief.

‘Oh my god, it  _is_  me.’

‘I told you!’ Dan near-on shrieks. ‘It’s even got your nose.’

‘I think it’s just broken,’ Phil muses, running a fingertip over the crooked bump.

A polite cough pulls them from their domestic distraction; the shop owner smiles sweetly as she holds the white box of samples out over the display case of impressive cakes.

‘Here you are,’ she says. ‘Each slice is labelled by flavour. If you leave your information with us, I would be happy to email through a price list.’

‘Information, right,’ Phil nods, turning to Dan. ‘Would you mind, while I get a cab? The next shop closes in half an hour.’

‘Not at all,’ Dan says, smiling a little too wide.

The bell above the door tinkles as Phil steps out into the grey, overcast afternoon. Flagging down an empty taxi turns out to be much easier than he expected, which he’s eternally grateful for when the first few droplets of rain begin to fall, pattering down on the black car. Sliding into the backseat, he makes small-talk with the driver while they wait for Dan – barely two minutes pass before the tall boy is climbing into the spot beside him, pulling back his damp hood.

‘I’m so ready to get home and eat all this cake,’ he says, the plastic bag in his hands crinkling as he stuffs it between his thighs.

‘What’s in there?’ Phil asks, eyeing it curiously.

Dan pulls out the little figurine. Grinning, Phil shakes his head.

‘Now we just have to find one that looks like me.’

‘Don’t hold up too much hope,’ Phil snorts. ‘I don’t think they make furry cake-toppers.’

*****

‘Boom,’ Dan says, spinning his laptop around on the glossy wood of their kitchen table. ‘They  _do_  exist.’

Two anthropomorphic purple wolves stand together, hand-in-hand, perched atop an obviously handmade wedding cake. Phil sighs dramatically.

‘Of course they do,’ he says, losing a little more faith in humanity.

‘So–’

‘Don’t even think about it.’

Lightning-fast fingers move expertly across black keys as Phil returns to navigating his disorganised Chrome bookmarks – a line of tabs as long as his processor will allow stretches across the top of his screen, and he does his best to angle it away from Dan to keep him from going into cardiac arrest. The chaos doesn’t bother Phil in the slightest, though, and he taps contently through picture after picture of pure, pastel petals.

‘I want hydrangeas,’ he says, settling on a photo of the blue flower, abundant in both size and beauty.

‘For the wedding?’ Dan asks, ceasing his scrolling. ‘So, we are doing flowers, then?’

‘Only if it’s okay with you.’

‘Of course,’ Dan says. ‘But why the sudden change of heart?’

‘They were my great-grandmother’s favourite,’ Phil says, flicking through a few more potential arrangements. He makes a mental note to pick some up for her grave the next time he goes up north. ‘She had them at her wedding, too, and I just…I guess I want it to feel like she’s there at ours, you know?’

‘I didn’t even know she was married,’ Dan grimaces with guilt. ‘I suppose I never asked.’

‘Nah, she never talked about it,’ Phil says. ‘He died before I was born – everything I learnt about him was through mum and gran. They met during the war. Apparently, he saved her life during an air-raid, and then she helped save his when she became a VAD nurse. I guess she took the fact that they kept almost dying without each other as a sign.’

‘Oh my God,’ Dan whines, melting at the mercy of a love-story, as he always does. ‘I’m going to cry, that’s so fucking sweet. No wonder she couldn’t talk about it. It must have been terrible, not being able to save him the last time.’

‘Oh, it wasn’t that. No, she found out he’d been having an affair for twenty years.’

The bittersweet swoon slips from Dan’s expression, his poised wrists slowly deflating to rest lifelessly against his laptop.

‘What?’

‘Yeah. It destroyed her, finding out he was cheating. She never remarried,’ Phil sighs. ‘I can’t blame her, honestly. Imagine being so sure it’s fate and true love and all that, and then having that bomb dropped on you.’ He pauses, glancing upwards. ‘Bad choice of words – sorry grandma.’

Dan doesn’t reply; Phil watches him as he stares listlessly at his laptop screen, dark with disuse.

‘Don’t be sad,’ Phil says, nudging him under the table with a socked foot. ‘She had a whole heap of kids, and grandkids, and  _great-_ grandkids who loved her. She was happy in the end, I think.’

Still, Dan doesn’t answer, so Phil takes his hand.

‘That’s probably enough planning for today, yeah?’ he prompts. ‘Do you want to go watch a movie, or something?’

‘I, um,’ Dan says, blinking fast and swallowing thick. ‘I think I’m going to go to bed.’

‘What?’ Phil asks, glancing at the time on the microwave. ‘But it’s only ten.’

‘I’m tired,’ Dan rasps, sliding his fingers from Phil’s and closing his laptop. Clearing his throat, he stands. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Do you want me to–’

‘No,’ he says, distractedly brushing a hand over Phil’s hair. ‘Goodnight.’

Everyone who’s ever met Dan more than once, for more than business, has asked Phil some variant of the same question –  _he’s such an enigma, how did you crack him?_  Phil’s answer, though never verbalised, has always been the same, and that is that he didn’t. From the moment he’d replied to that very first Tweet, Phil just understood Dan. For nine years, he’s believed that he’s special in that way. Now, watching the brunet silently shuffle towards the stairs, Phil worries he was wrong.

*****

A subdued, needy whimper vibrates in the confines of Dan’s taut throat. With his dull teeth grazing over a thrumming pulse, Phil chuckles.

‘Neighbours are out,’ he says, hips moving in tender little circles. ‘You can be loud.’

‘Uh,  _fuck_ ,’ Dan groans. Phil smiles against sleep-warm skin as the loud moan rings out between high walls and drawn blinds. ‘Harder.’

Phil grunts in willing servitude, cock grinding harder, deeper, into Dan’s pliant body. Two large hands wind through his ruffled, black hair and drag his wet mouth up from the salty hollow of Dan’s neck; it meets with a set of greedy lips in return – lips that part just as easy as long legs had in the hypersensitive haze of post-slumber. Dan sucks the lingering taste of black coffee from Phil’s tongue. A change of angle, and he’s crying out.

‘Oh, shit, there,’ Dan gasps, legs lifting to wrap around Phil’s waist. ‘Right there.’

‘You feel so good,’ Phil pants, carefully dragging out, only to sink right back in. So tight, so hot. ‘Always do.’

‘ _Ah_ ,’ Dan whines, cupping Phil’s face to keep his praising mouth close. Not kissing it, just holding it there – breathing from him like a life-source.

‘Want to do this forever,’ Phil whispers, one hand supporting his weight as the other wraps around Dan’s open palm. Pulling it back, he turns away from swollen lips to press a kiss to the delicate flesh of his inner wrist. Slender fingers curl in pleasure, and streaky morning sunlight catches on Dan’s gleaming ring. The white-gold band shifts easily with the weight he’s lost from extra training, revealing a small strip of smoother, paler skin underneath. Even without it, Dan still bares Phil’s mark. ‘Only want you, forever.’

‘Phil,’ Dan moans, lithe body arching up.

‘My perfect boy,’ Phil says, voice descending to a gravelly murmur. His hips snap hard, and Dan shudders. ‘Only want to fuck  _you_.’

Phil kisses Dan again, hard and deep. When he pulls back, there’s a crazed glint in those soft brown eyes.

Strong limbs tighten around Phil like vines and, in an instant, they’re rolling over in the white sheets of their unmade bed. Phil chokes as Dan settles above him, inadvertently sinking further down on his hard cock; Dan’s head tips back with a muted moan, calves clinching around Phil’s hips and hands reaching back to steady himself.

‘All yours,’ he says, pushing up with slim thighs to ride Phil expertly. After almost ten years, perfection has become mere habit. ‘Yours to fuck, to own,  _God_.’

‘Could mark you as mine,’ Phil breathes, a sensual sweat breaking out on his hairline. Clammy hands skim over padded ribs as they roam around to reach Dan’s dimpled back. There, they linger, fingernails braced against bowing skin, at the ready. ‘You want that?’

‘Yes,’ Dan gasps, nodding. ‘Claim me, please.’

‘How?’ Phil teases with a smirk, nails pressing in just-so.

To his surprise, Dan leans forwards, away from the promise of pleasure-pain that he loves so much. Instead, he hovers his hot, panting mouth by Phil’s ear. With an exhale, he whispers, ‘Give me your last name.’

Phil chokes on his own shock, hips thrusting up violently without mindful intention. Dan whines pathetically, his dick pulsing strings of pre-come between their shared, sultry bodies.

‘Really?’ Phil gushes, eyes wide behind his fogging glasses. Dan inches back.

‘Mhm,’ he hums, picking up a desperate pace, working himself back on Phil’s cock. ‘Want to be yours. Completely.’

‘Shit,’ Phil sighs, head resting against thousand-thread sheets. ‘Yes, God, yes. Take it.’

Dan mewls softly, melding with Phil in another wistful kiss.

‘Fuck, Phil,’ he mutters against him. ‘I’m so close. Talk to me.’

‘Come for me,’ Phil urges, gripping at Dan’s full ass. His fingers slip between lube-slick cheeks, touching at the wide stretch of Dan’s body and feeling the friction of his thick cock pumping inside him. ‘Want to see you come from just this.’

‘It’s so good,’ Dan says, fucking himself firm and shallow, muscles beginning to tremble. ‘So good in me, ah,  _fuck_.’

‘Made for you,’ Phil slurs, his own orgasm bubbling at Dan’s babbled praise. ‘Come on it, babe – come on the only cock you’ll ever have. All mine.’ Phil’s toes curl as he considers, and his endorphin-drunk mind decides  _fuck it_. ‘Come for me, Daniel Lester.’

Dan is silent when his initial orgasm hits, but he screams into Phil’s shoulder as the aftershocks crash over him in waves. Body so tight with pleasure, all he can do is seize as he comes hot and hard up Phil’s bare chest. Phil holds him through it, squeezing tight and biting the inside of his cheek as he fucks his own orgasm deep into his fiancé. For a moment, time is lost, and the only word he knows is  _Dan_.

When Phil’s clouded eyes flutter open, Dan is already working himself off his softening cock and collapsing to the bed beside him. With a lazy, blissful smile, he rolls over onto his side to face his fucked-out other half, laid on his stomach with his face buried in Phil’s pillow.

‘If only every morning could be like this, huh?’ he laughs breathlessly, trailing his fingers over the high curve of Dan’s ass.

That’s when he hears the first muffled sob.

‘Dan?’ Phil sits bolt upright, afterglow draining from his bones. ‘Dan, what’s wrong?’

Narrow shoulders shake as Dan cries harder, clutching frantically at damp sheets. Phil tries to pet his back, but Dan only flinches away; a cold dread shoots through his veins, drowning any lingering warmth.

‘Dan, what is it?’ he frets. ‘Did I do something wrong? I thought – did I go too far? Talk to me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Dan chokes.

‘Sorry? For what?’

Nothing but sobs follow, and Dan cries himself back into a restless sleep.

*****

‘Dan?’ Phil asks, voice groggy and confused as he steps into the study, shielding his dilated pupils from the bright fluorescent light. ‘What are you doing up?’

Dan’s eyes barely meet Phil’s concerned face before flicking away, still carrying the baggage of deep-set dark circles. In the harsh glare of his computer, they look even worse.

‘Looking at different tailor options,’ he says, sliding a small stack of papers across the desk towards Phil. ‘Here’s a bunch of quotes from local ones, but if we go outside London it looks like it’ll be much cheaper.’

‘It’s four AM.’ Phil says, smothering a yawn. ‘This can wait, come back to bed.’

‘Can’t sleep,’ Dan says, words as blunt as the  _tap, tap_ of his fingers. Phil picks up the pile of papers and skims the front page.

‘When did you even have the time to get these?’ he asks.

‘This afternoon,’ Dan says. ‘Well, yesterday afternoon, I guess.’

‘Yesterday,’ Phil repeats, frowning at the mess of digits in his hands. ‘But…yesterday was Thursday. I thought you left for therapy?’

The typing stops, and suddenly the room rings with silence. Dan pulls a sip of tea from his mug.

‘Dan,’ Phil says, gently placing the pile back on the desk. ‘When’s the last time you went to therapy?’

Tired eyes stay locked on a latent screen. Phil slips into the computer chair beside him.

‘ _Dan_ ,’ he calls again, placing a comforting palm on his fiancé’s knee. It vibrates beneath his touch. ‘Look at me.’

Dan complies, and the weight pulling at his young face makes Phil’s heart clench.

‘You don’t have to tell me what’s going on in your head,’ he says. ‘But you’ve got to tell  _someone_. You’re starting to spiral. Please, promise me you’ll go to your next appointment?’

Dragging in a deep breath through his nose, Dan nods.

‘Okay,’ he whispers. ‘I promise.’

‘Thank you,’ Phil says, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. ‘I love you. Come to bed when you can.’

*****

Phil is almost halfway through the second chapter of his novel when he notices the unsung presence hovering in the doorway. Looking up over the top of his glasses, he smiles.

‘Hey,’ he says, patting the vacant space beside him with his free hand. ‘Coming to bed? It’s a bit early for you, isn’t it?’

Still, Dan silently haunts the threshold like a ghost, face equally as pale as he watches Phil from afar. There’s emotion knitted into his eyebrows and it spells out pain.

‘Dan?’ Phil asks, cautiously closing the paperback on his thumb. ‘You alright?’

Chapped lips quiver as they part, but no sound comes out. Phil pulls back the covers from his legs.

‘Danny?’

‘I slept with Martyn.’

A cold emptiness climbs the walls of their bedroom. Phil occupies it with a sharp laugh.

‘You realise April fools is still two days away, right?’ he says. The tepid amusement slips from his face as the first tear slides down Dan’s. ‘It’s – you know that. Right?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Dan whispers, shaking his head. Phil blinks.

‘I – Dan, this isn’t funny–’

His sentence cuts short with Dan’s agonised sob, and the feeling drains out of his very core.

‘Oh my God,’ Phil mutters, book toppling to the ground as his legs slide from the bed, slow and shaky. ‘You’re…you’re not kidding.’

‘Please, don’t hate me,’ Dan begs, shoulders trembling. His nervous hands twist in the material of the shirt Phil bought him. ‘Please.’

‘No. You – you wouldn’t do that,’ Phil says, voice rising as he stands, bare feet stumbling forwards. ‘You wouldn’t – not to me. Dan, you  _wouldn’t_.’

‘It was a mistake,’ Dan cries, wiping at his wet cheeks. ‘I’m sorry. It didn’t mean anything.’

With those four words, a spear shoots through Phil’s heart – those four little selfish words that try to justify the unjustifiable, that try to convey meaninglessness but are, in themselves, meaningless. Phil clamps a hand over his mouth as the unbearable pain knocks him back a step.

‘Why?’ he chokes, confused and so, so hurt. His mind reels with the last time Martyn visited their flat. When he came around to pick up their wedding rings.  ‘Why – when – I didn’t leave you two alone, how–’

‘No, no, Phil, it wasn’t then,’ Dan stumbles to explain. His hands reach for Phil and the misery in his eyes is excruciating when he flinches away. ‘It was a long time ago. Back – back in university. I didn’t…I just couldn’t let you marry me without telling you.’

‘Oh, fuck,’ Phil heaves, heat clawing its way up his throat and spilling over his bottom lashes. ‘Why would you  _do this_?’

‘It was so long ago, Phil–’

‘And that’s supposed to make it  _better_? You lied to me, Dan. For  _years_. You made me think you loved me, and then you had sex with my brother.’

‘I do love you,’ Dan insists, nails clawing at his own chest in desperation. ‘I fucked up, but I love you. I love you so fucking much.’

‘You don’t!’ Phil cries, lungs burning. ‘You wouldn’t have – if you had–’ He takes a deep, shaky breath and closes his eyes. ‘I need you to leave.’

‘No, Phil,  _please_ ,’ Dan’s knuckles go white with how hard he presses his hand to his chest. ‘Don’t. I can’t live without you, I can’t. Please, don’t do this.’

‘Dan,’ he says, low and calm but with steel conviction. ‘Go.’

Dan stares, eyes wide and lips parted. Perhaps in disbelief, or maybe just shock. Whatever it is, Phil can’t stand to look at him anymore – he turns his head to stare at the floor.

‘Phil.’

‘ _Go_.’

As faltering footsteps carry his life out the door, Phil does nothing to stop them.

*****

A shrill dial-tone cuts through the quiet, still air of the apartment. Combined with the pounding of his own heart, it’s far too loud in Phil’s head.

‘Hey, Phil. What’s up?’

Phil sucks in a breath through his teeth, eyes losing focus on the book that lays by his feet when Martyn answers the call. Shaking fingers tighten around the phone held to his ear.

‘You fucked him.’

Static silence rings between them, followed by a heavy, distorted sigh.

‘Shit,’ Martyn says. ‘He told you.’

‘So, it’s true, then?’ Phil fights to keep his voice steady. ‘You did?’

‘Phil, listen–’

‘No,  _you_  listen,’ he grits, hand fisting in the sheets beside him. Sheets that smell like him, and Dan, and what he thought was love but now just reeks of sex. ‘Did you think I would never find out? That you could do that to me and get away with it? Fuck you, Martyn.’

‘Phil, calm down, it’s not–’

‘Don’t tell me to calm down!’ Phil shouts, losing the futile battle. ‘You fucked my fiancé!’

‘He wasn’t your fiancé at the time.’

‘What difference does that make?’ he shrieks hysterically. ‘You had sex with the man I was supposed to marry!’

‘ _Was_? Did he tell you what–’

‘Does Cornelia know?’

A lingering pause.

‘I didn’t know her then.’

‘I don’t care. Does she know?’

Another beat of silence.

‘No.’

‘Well, maybe you should tell her,’ Phil spits, hot tears wavering his words. ‘Because it would be nice to know how horrible a person really is before you do something stupid, like ask them to marry you.’

Without waiting for a reply, he hangs up. The phone gets lost somewhere in the tainted sheets and Phil cradles his face as he breathes, hard and heavy. His eyes skim across the room, everything that once made him feel whole filling him with a poisonous dread; they land on the little porcelain figurine stood on Dan’s bedside table, and something in him snaps.

Standing, he snatches it up and aims the innocent, smiling groom at the wall. He raises his arm, ready to beat it against plaster, again and again, until it crumbles to dust. Its small, happy face smiles down at him, and it’s Phil who crumbles instead.

‘God,’ he sobs, sinking back down on the bed.

Pressing the lonely groom to his forehead, Phil weeps.


End file.
